For Want of a...
by Bagel
Summary: The thing Xander desires most is just within his grasp...


Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to Joss. Don't sue.  
  
Author's notes: Okay, I have been dubbed before as "the ambiguity queen" and this fic definitely causes me to live up to my name. I had incredible fun with this, partially due to the fact that I haven't had time to write anything in a long time, but also due to the fact that the concept made me laugh so hard, I barely finished this piece.   
  
To XW: thanks for the inspiration (you'll see what I mean). To Megg: beta-reader extraordinnaire. Here's the work I promised ya! And to the Cross-and-Stakers: my strongest supporters and coolest friends. This is for you.  
  
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Xander ran. His focus was on one thing. It would save him from the hell he'd been forced to endure since October, when the three-fourths of the Scooby Gang that was not named "Xander" went off to good old UC Sunnydale. He'd realized, at precisely 3:47 p.m. yesterday, exactly what was missing. The one thing that would make it all better, and it was there in front of him, taunting him. 'Come and get me! Please!'   
  
"I'm coming, oh good god, I'm coming" he internally rejoiced, nearly breaking into a jolly canter at the thought that finally, FINALLY his problem would be solved. 'Yes!' the thing beckoned to him, 'I'm here! Look harder! I can make it all better!' "Yes! I know you can!" he sing-songed out loud, "Everything's going to be great! It'll be the-hills-are-alive-with-the-sound-of- music great! It'll be...OW!" A painful stitch that was quickly working its way up his side forced Xander to pause, panting at the end of a long hallway. Resting his hands on his khaki-clad knees, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Soon.....no more worries!"   
  
He seriously considered dropping to his knees at that point and praising every god in the world in every language he knew for this opportunity (which would add up to 1 god and 1 language, but hey, it's the thought that counts), but the image of what was to come set him off running again like an eager puppy after a favorite chew toy.   
  
He ran forever, driven by the hours of suffering and embarrassment he'd been put through. Buffy and Willow had managed to avoid the plague that had swept over him like a horrible nightmare of a clown-circus proportion. Perhaps it was because they were female, immune to the disease that had claimed him. Or maybe it was the whole college thing that prodded The Powers That Be to leave them alone, so to speak. Why he was the one made to suffer, he could only guess.   
  
"Maybe they think it makes me look more pathetic. They figure, hey, I already feel pathetic, so let's make him look the part too. Funny guys, those PTB. But not anymore. No, sir, Xander Harris has the taste of victory in his mouth, and he's looking for that juicy steak of satisfaction to go with it. Darn straight, I'm not going to put up with this absurdity anymore. I'm..."  
  
Xander halted so fast, his sneakered feet nearly kept on going without him. He managed to grab onto the wall at the last second, avoiding the embarrassment of falling to the tile floor in front of an audience of gaping doorways. Slack-jawed and wide-eyed ('good way to catch flies' the ever-funny part of his brain sneered at him) he stared at his version of the Holy Grail. Minutes ticked by as he stood frozen, unable to process the vision lying before him in all its simplistic glory. Silently, his hand traveled to his jaw and deliberately shoved it closed, never taking his eyes off his prize. His face took on a sneaky, self-satisfied look as he glanced down the hallway in both directions, searching for anyone, anything that could possibly ruin his moment of victory.   
  
He meant to be sneaky and suave about it, *really*, but the Xander deep within that was turning cartwheels in his heart couldn't control himself any longer. He lunged forward, hands outstretched, and claimed his prize. As it lay there in his palm, he swore it sang to him. It was absolutely beautiful music. "The music of victory. The music of "Ha! I win! You couldn't keep this from me forever!" The music of a thousand breezes, whipping against......"  
  
"HEY!" Xander shouted, as a man in faded jeans and an old tee-shirt that read 'TPTB' walked up to him and snatched his redemption away from him, "That's not fair. It's mine!"   
  
"Xander...shush! Stop complaining! I write your extremely witty dialogue, I allowed you to sleep with a beautiful woman, not to mention that you've kissed just about every female character on the show. I've allowed that and much more, but this..." he responded, waving the item in question back and forth in front of him, "this I cannot allow. It interrupts my vision."  
  
Xander blinked once, then twice as the disbelief worked its way through his system. "But...but...the fans are getting angry! And I, for one, am getting sick and tired of having to put up with this...this humiliation week after week. I live in my parent's basement, I don't have a steady job, and my girlfriend's an ex-demon with a yen for all things orgasmic. I put up with all THAT, and now this?!"   
  
"Hey," the man stopped him, putting the item in question in his shirt pocket, "It's not really my department anyway. You want a little change with...that," he said, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of Xander, "you go take it up with hair and makeup." And with that, Joss Whedon walked away from his suffering creation, a comb firmly tucked into his shirt pocket.  
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Author's end note: For those who finished this fic scratching their heads and going "Huh?", allow me to explain. It is my personal belief that anyone with eyes that work has noticed the lack of 'do' in Xander's hairdo this season. It's downright sad. That boy hasn't seen a comb in months. This is my attempt to explain (hopefully somewhat humorously) his dilemma, and why "Mr. Comb" seems to have evaded his grasp. :)  
  



End file.
